


Takes Direction Well

by rijane



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-26
Updated: 2012-01-26
Packaged: 2017-10-30 03:42:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/327365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rijane/pseuds/rijane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The ins and outs of getting Sherlock to complete a simple task for John.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Takes Direction Well

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to hydriotaphia for the quick beta!

“Sherlock, I've got to run to the chemist for Mrs. Hudson before it closes. Can I ask you to sign for my books when they arrive?”

“Of course.”

“Brilliant. Back by six.”

Coat on, buttoned, door open.

Door shut.

“Wait. Let me rephrase that. If or when the postman knocks, will you sign for my package and take it into the flat?”

“Certainly.”

Door open, shut. Two steps, hop the loose one. Must get a repairman round when Sherlock finishes withdrawal.

Shit.

Door open.

“And, just for clarity's sake, when you take it into the flat, will you put it carefully on a flat, level surface without investigation of its potential flammability or hook it up to that bloody thing with the coffee cup?”

“The calorimetre? Do you anticipate the Royal Mail is also planning a mysterious arson?”

“Fair point. However, you have not answered the question.”

A slight eyebrow raise.

“Yes, John, I will place your box on a flat, level surface. No, John, I will not 'investigate' your package.”

“Thank you.”

Door open, shut. Two steps, hop the loose board, one, two, three, four, five, to the door.

Damn it.

“And you won't – good lord, what is that smell?”

“Really, John. It's barely past livor mortis.”

“Is that my mum's container? I'm meant to return that!”

“She can have it back in… about 39 hours.”  
“Never mind, I'll just put a new one on the shopping list and remember to bring back the leftovers in foil next time,” John sighed and almost gagged before scrawling “leftover container” beneath “4 spoons, 3 forks, NO knives” on the fridge list.

He jingled his keys as Sherlock settled a new slide under the microscope.

“Yes, John?”

“When the box arrives, will you place it somewhere I can easily find?”

“How bored do you think I am?”

“Where's the mail for the last three weeks?”

“John, as you often note, you're quite capable and I'm sure you will find it should you actually choose to look.”

“I shouldn't have to look beyond the bloody table,” John answered under his breath as he circled the table to open a window.

“So, flat, level surface without the use of my inferior deduction skills and without any exploration into its explosive capacity.”

“Now, John, previously we had established flammability restrictions.”

“Please, just let the package alone. Inside. Sherlock, please answer the door – clothed! Sign for the package, bring it into the flat, place it on the table – after the remains have been cleaned up! Don't pour anything on it, in it, near it. Don't shoot it or throw it or attempt to stick it to the ceiling or some other nonsense.”

“I shall endeavour to do exactly as you ask,” Sherlock resealed the container.

“Great. Back shortly.”

Door open. Two steps.

At the loose board.

One, two, three, four, five.

Hand on the knob.

A thud came from upstairs and John thought perhaps he heard the crack of wood, shattering glass. He paused, glanced at the door above.

Then John threw the door open and headed down the street."Oh sod it, I'll just go to the bloody library next week."


End file.
